She could have wept. Dante did not deserve to be humiliated in public by the arrogant Jake.
Jake’s fingers bit into her waist. ‘Yes, tell him, Lexi darling. Tell him how you spent the night in my arms.’
‘You didn’t!’ Dante cried, his eyes dark with pain, and, breaking into his native language, he demanded to know if she had slept with Jake.
Haltingly she tried to explain, but she could see Dante did not believe her as he turned on her in a fury of Italian, demanding to know why, when she had refused him her bed, she could fall straight into bed with a man she had not seen in years.
She looked into his deep brown eyes, and could see the hurt and anger and she opened her mouth to try and explain, and closed it again. There was no explanation she could give. It was better that Dante thought the worst of her; he would get over her quicker that way. Sadly she realised she had never loved him, and he deserved better.
‘Jake is right, Dante. I’m sorry,’ she said in English for Jake’s benefit, but it hurt to see the look of bleak disillusionment on Dante’s friendly face, and turning angry eyes on Jake, she added, ‘Jake and I are reconciled—that’s what you want, isn’t it, darling...?’ she jeered, not bothering to hide her disgust with her so-called husband.
Dante, with a pride that did him credit, said, ‘Congratulations; I hope you will be happy, but I doubt it.’ And, swinging on his heel, his broad shoulders tense, he walked stiffly away.
Lexi watched him go with tears in her eyes...
‘He isn’t worth your sympathy. The man is even older than me; he could never have kept you satisfied.’
Jake’s sneering remark fuelled her temper, and flashing him a bitter glance, she said, ‘Did you have to be so brutal? I wanted to tell Dante myself. And anyway, how did you know where to find us?’
‘Simple, I went to the man’s shop and followed him when he left; I guessed you would run to him. But you’re wasting time, Lexi. Monicelli told me you spoke to him this morning; you have nowhere to run to. So, unless you want a coffee, we will leave.’
He was right as usual but she could not resist getting a dig at him. ‘I’m surprised you don’t need a coffee, given the state you got into last night; the place reeked of whisky this morning.’ She tilted her head back, the better to look at him. ‘Is drinking another one of your vices?’ she queried sarcastically.
It wasn’t natural, she thought bitterly; his deep blue eyes were as clear and cold as ice, and if he had a hangover it certainly didn’t show. He looked more vitally alive today than he had yesterday.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but my head is fine and I am in full control of my faculties. I didn’t drink the whisky last night so much as spill it down my trousers. Jet-lag was responsible for my oversleeping; I flew in from America yesterday morning.’ His dark head bent towards her. ‘Sorry you were frustrated last night, Lexi, but have no fear, I’ll make it up to you,’ he promised silkily, ‘now I’ve deprived you of your lover.’
Her mouth fell open in shock and colour rushed into her face as the implication of his words hit her. ‘I was not...’
‘This is hardly the place to discuss your sex life,’ he said sneeringly. ‘Come along, my car is parked around the corner.’
‘Come along? Where to?’ She was not going to be manhandled like a piece of spare baggage, but she had no choice but to go where he led, the arm around her waist gripped even tighter as they walked from the café and down the Via Cesareo. ‘And what about my car? I’ve left it at the Continental Hotel car park...’
‘That will be taken care of—get in.’
Seated in the low passenger seat of the gleaming Bugatti, she flinched as Jake reached across her, the back of his knuckles brushing the tip of her breast as he fastened the seatbelt.
His deep blue eyes captured hers, and he was amused by her reaction; his hand dropped to cover her breast through the fine cotton of her shirt. ‘So sensitive,’ Jake prompted cynically. ‘I did you a favour getting rid of Dante, he was no match for your fiery passion.’
She searched frantically for a scathing response, but Jake simply settled behind the wheel and started the car while she was still seething with anger. With a defiant toss of her head she looked out of the side window. She was not going to argue with the man, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, and with hard-won control she offered, ‘If you take the next left, it is the quickest way back to the hotel.’
Jake glanced sideways at her stiff face an
d then returned his attention to the road. ‘We are not going to the hotel, but to my villa in Positano.’
Her head swung back, her glance going to his stern profile. ‘But I can’t; all my clothes, everything I own is at the hotel.’
‘That’s all taken care of. I’m taking no chances on your running off again,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I want you where I know you can’t escape.’
Escape. It was an emotive word, but did one truly ever escape from one’s past by running away? With maturity and hindsight, she recognised that her biggest mistake had been running away from Jake and his mistress in the first place. If she had stayed, and immediately applied for a divorce on the ground of Jake’s adultery with Lorraine, she would certainly have won the case, the poor wife having just lost her child. Her solicitor had told her as much a couple of mornings ago. Not that it did her much good, as he also explained that, having been living apart for so long, to claim adultery now was a bit of a non-starter; it was best to wait the five years...
So near and yet so far, she thought, her violet eyes resentfully skimming Jake’s harsh profile. She had almost won, a few short weeks to freedom. But almost was not good enough, she sighed resignedly; Jake always won... Her eyes fell on his hands lightly flexed around the wheel. He drove the powerful car with the same easy expertise he did everything. It was frightening to think she was completely at his mercy.
But five minutes later she was glad of his dynamic skills, as the powerful car picked up speed and flew along the notorious Amalfi Drive. She glanced out of the window and caught her breath: on one side were steeply rising cliffs, and on the other an almost sheer drop into the sea. It was noted as one of the most spectacular views in the Mediterranean, and many a film-maker used the scenic drive as a backdrop for famous car chases. But it took a skilful and courageous driver to navigate the dark tunnels and cliff-hanging bends. She didn’t speak, didn’t dare. Instead she drank in the sight of the isle of Capri, and the smaller islands near the coastline, the luxury yachts moving through the azure waters as smooth as swans on a lake.
Jake must have amassed an enormous amount of money to have a villa in Positano; she had visited the village once. A very sophisticated centre, the famous names in fashion owned the boutiques—Armani, Valentino and the like. Their customers the seriously rich people who holidayed in the villas dotted around the hillside. Roger Moore, the famous James Bond actor, and many more.
She gasped as the car swung violently to the right, and they were driving up a narrow road, and then, just when she thought they would surely crash into the tall iron gates ahead of them, Jake flicked a switch on the dash, and the gates swung open. A short, steep drive lined with trees ended in a huge stone arch and a large courtyard.